Creation Myths of Primitive America Part 34

Now Keriha saw what kind of person the little man was. He cooked salmon and sturgeon till midnight without stopping, and still the little man was hungry. Keriha cooked fish the whole night, and Nodal Monoko ate till daylight.

Norwanchakus came up from the river next morning and said to the little man, who looked as if he had eaten nothing,--

"My uncle, you wish to go home, I suppose. If you want fish, fill your bag; it will hold a couple of good ones. The fish did not come up last night very well, but I can give you enough to fill your bag."

So saying, Norwanchakus went back to the fis.h.i.+ng-place. Nodal Monoko went out and emptied his bag. When the roots were thrown out, there was a pile of them many times higher and bigger than the house. It covered all the open s.p.a.ce, while some roots rolled down the hillside and fell into the river.

Nodal Monoko's bag would hold mountains. He could put the whole world into it. Nodal took his bag to the river, where Norwanchakus had been fis.h.i.+ng all night, and saw salmon in piles there.

"Take all the salmon you can," said Norwanchakus.

The stranger put two hundred salmon in one corner of his bag, two hundred more in the other, two hundred in the middle--all large fish--and the bottom of the bag was hardly covered. He twisted the top of the bag then, and tied it. Nodal Monoko had a beaver-skin quiver.

In this he was carrying five great baskets of acorns, each basket holding three bushels, and these acorns filled only the very tip of the beaver tail.

He went down to the river to swim across.

"He cannot cross the river with that bag and quiver," said Keriha.

At the edge of the water Nodal Monoko took the bag and quiver in one hand, and swam across with the other.

The two brothers stayed fis.h.i.+ng at Tsik Tepji till a day when Keriha said, "Let us go up the river, my brother." They went to Bohem Tehil and stopped at a large tree. Keriha hung a salmon on a limb of it. "I will watch this fish," said he "I'll see if Hubit comes here to eat it."

He watched that day from dawn till dark; no one came. He watched five days more; no one. Five other days, and five days more, and then five days,--twenty-one in all; he saw no one.

Next morning he was waiting, when all at once he heard a noise, and looking he saw Hubit come from the west and go to the salmon.

Norwanchakus sat some distance away, watching Keriha.

"Oh, my brother," cried Keriha, "Hubit has come. He is at the salmon.

What shall I do? I want to know where Hubit lives, I want to see his house. I must follow him."

"My brother," answered Norwanchakus, "you say that you know more than I. You think that you know everything. You must know what to do with Hubit."

"Oh, my brother," said Keriha, "do not tease me. Tell me quickly what I am to do with Hubit."

"Go straight south to a level place, get a pawit, and bring it. I will watch Hubit while you are gone."

Keriha brought some pawit quickly. "Now what shall I do?"

"Stick one tuft in the salmon's tail, and fasten it well," said Norwanchakus. "Let Hubit carry off the fish. You can see the tuft far away, and follow."

Keriha fastened the tuft to the salmon, gave the fish to Hubit, and watched. Hubit wouldn't bite, wouldn't taste. Keriha tried all day to make him taste the salmon, tried a second day, tried five days. Hubit wouldn't even bite it. On the sixth day Keriha said,--

"Hubit, why are you here? I thought you came to eat salmon, but now you will not taste it."

Keriha talked five days more to Hubit, ten days in all. "Hubit, I wish you would eat some fish and take home the rest." Hubit made no answer.

Five days more Keriha teased him, and then five days longer, twenty days in all.

"Hubit," said Keriha on the twenty-first day, "tell me what you are going to do; I'd like to know;" and he pushed him. Not a word from Hubit. "Are you asleep or dead?" asked Keriha. "Hubit, you make me so angry that I want to kill you."

All these days Keriha had watched Hubit from daylight till dark, giving him no chance to steal the fish, and Hubit wanted salmon so much that he would not go without it. Norwanchakus sat watching Keriha.

"My brother," said Keriha, "I cannot make that Hubit take the salmon; what shall I do? Tell me."

Norwanchakus said nothing.

"I am getting angry. If you cannot tell me what to do, I will kill Hubit to-morrow."

"Why kill Hubit? You have teased him a long time; tease him a little longer. How will you find Hubit's house, if you kill him?"

"Hubit, will you bite this salmon?" asked Keriha, next morning. "I have bothered long enough. Will you bite to-day?" He put the salmon to Hubit's mouth. Hubit bit a little. Keriha lifted the salmon with Hubit on it, and threw it in the air to make Hubit fly. All came down like a stone. Keriha threw it a second time. It fell again. He tried all day.

"I don't know what kind of man that Hubit is; he won't eat, he won't talk, won't go home, won't do anything," said Keriha.

Next morning he said to Hubit: "Hubit, what kind of person are you? I wish you would go home."

But Hubit wouldn't go without the salmon, and wouldn't take it for fear that Keriha would follow him. Keriha threw him up again with the salmon. Again he fell with the salmon, and he teased Hubit for five days more. On the sixth morning Hubit began to eat.

"Ah, you are eating!" said Keriha; "will you go to-day?"

He threw the salmon; it fell again. Five days more he tried. Hubit would eat, but wouldn't fly. Now he had tried twenty days more. On the twentieth evening he said to Norwanchakus, "I will kill Hubit to-morrow."

"Oh, you are not angry," said Norwanchakus. "Play with him a little longer. You want to know everything, to see everything, to have everything. You ought to find out what he means; he has some reason for doing as he does."

Next morning Keriha went to Hubit. "Will you tell me what you are going to do? Unless you tell me I will kill you. When I throw you up, I will kill you unless you fly."

He threw up the salmon. Hubit moved his wings and flew along a little above the ground, then settled down.

"Oh, he is going now, he is going! I'm so glad," cried Keriha; and he threw the salmon a second time.

Hubit opened his wings and flew around Keriha, flew around the tree.

"Go, go!" cried Keriha, clapping his hands.

Hubit shot away toward the north, near the ground, and Keriha ran with all speed, but Hubit went far ahead; then he flew a little toward the west, turned, and darted off directly northward.

Keriha did not lose sight of him, but rose in the air and flew north, going parallel with Hubit and going faster. He was at the sky first. A moment later Hubit came.

"I am here before you!" cried out Keriha. "You cannot go out here!"

Hubit flew around a while and shot back to Bohem Tehil. Keriha was just behind him.

"Hubit, you are so slow," called out Keriha. "I want to go fast, I like to see you go fast."

Hubit flew around the tree a little, then darted to the south. Keriha went a little to one side, was at the south before him, clapping his hands.

"No escape on this side, Hubit; I am here before you."

Hubit turned to Bohem Tehil. From the tree he rushed east to where the sky comes down. Keriha was there before him. He rushed to the west, to where the sky comes down. Keriha was there before his face, barring the way. Hubit had been at all four points,--no escape at any of them; still he wouldn't drop the salmon. He turned a fifth time to Bohem Tehil with Keriha behind him. He flew around the tree a few times, then rose straight in the air, carrying the salmon. He rose quickly, went very high. Keriha stood looking at Hubit, watched him growing smaller and smaller. Keriha shaded his eyes.